


Do No Harm

by perletwo



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: ccbingo, Gen, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perletwo/pseuds/perletwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton does not like doctors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do No Harm

**Author's Note:**

> For the ccbingo phobia prompt iatrophobia - fear of doctors.

“Wouldja believe I’m a Jehovah’s Witness?” Agent Barton deadpanned, then winced.

“Really not,” Agent Coulson replied, equally deadpan, and held Barton’s stare until the younger man blinked. “Since not only is no religious preference indicated in your dossier, you don’t seem entirely clear on what JWs actually do.” 

Barton winced again, and Coulson continued in the same soft, dry tone. “They go to doctors. It’s only blood transfusions they don’t allow, which can make surgery a bitch.” He rocked back on his heels, then forward again. “Care to tell me why you don’t want to take your _raging gunshot wound_ to a hospital, Barton?”

“It’s a _flesh wound_ from a _spent bullet,_ ” he hissed back. “Just needs a field dressing and a scrip for some penicillin, that’s all. ‘S no point in making a big deal of it.”

Coulson knelt beside him, gingerly pushed aside the torn strips of fabric to study Barton’s thigh wound. “Pretty good-sized crease. Might need stitches.” Barton looked away, and Coulson took pity on him. “I can do the sutures and bandaging, and check on you in a couple days. But you’ll be off the roster and stay off the range, and if I find you’ve pulled ‘em out or let it get septic…”

“No _sir,_ ” Barton said stoutly, his mood visibly lifted. “Thank you, sir!”

**********

Three days later, Coulson changed Barton’s bandage with careful, steady hands. 

“Looks pretty good,” he said. “And I see you haven’t tried to sneak onto the range even once, I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, hopin’ you’ll gimme the all-clear soon, I’m goin’ stir-crazy in here.” Barton gave him a halfhearted grin.

Coulson shrugged. “Lacking medical equipment or tests, you’re going to have to stay on bed rest longer than you would at a hospital.” Barton groaned, and Coulson watched him. “Mind telling me what it is you think a doctor’s going to do to you that’s so horrible?”

_Cut you open, little boy._ Clint heard his father’s drunken slurs echo in his head. _Turn you upside down an’ shake out alllllll the bits ‘n’ pieces. Then they’ll put ‘em back all anywhichway. Stick needles in your eyes. Tubes down yer throat. An’ then they’ll just_ leave _ya there like that. Ferget alllll about’cha. Tha’sss what’ll happen if you talk to the doctors, li’l boy…_

He turned his head away from Coulson’s steady gaze. “Nothing. I know they won’t do anything harmful. On purpose.” His voice sounded thin, even to his own ears, and when Coulson’s fingers brushed over the back of his hand, he flinched away.

“When I was a kid…” Clint’s voice came out too high, and he cleared his throat. “I know, now, that my dad didn’t want doctors looking at me so they wouldn’t see the bruises, burns, broken bones. Wouldn’t see the pattern. But – he’d tell me things, to scare me, and – look, I was just a little kid, okay? Stupid for my age, too. Some things stick with you, you know?”

Coulson’s eyes closed and his fingers twitched; he suppressed an urge to hug Barton. It would do nothing for the boy he’d been, and would only embarrass the man he’d grown up to be. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” he said with a sigh. “We’ll figure something out, case by case.”

Barton sighed with relief. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said wryly. “New orders, Agent. Don’t get shot; don’t get sick. You hear me?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Barton threw him a salute and his trademark smirk.


End file.
